


you can touch, you can play

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Series: Witcher Trash Party [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Free Use, Hand Feeding, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Objectification, Total Power Exchange, he's having so much fun i promise, i guess, jaskier takes on the role of a sextoy/fleshlight, perhaps do not try this irl, what do you call "sitting on a huge dildo most of the day"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: Jaskier likes The Shelf. His dear Witchers carved it just for him and had it enchanted just for him - a frankly enormous wooden cock bespelled to be always warm like the real thing, vibrating almost unnoticeably (Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was another spell, or if it was just the gentle hum of the warming magic) - citing the need to have somewhere to put him when they’re not using him.
Relationships: Coën/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Witchers
Series: Witcher Trash Party [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990582
Comments: 13
Kudos: 487





	you can touch, you can play

**Author's Note:**

> _"Happy WItcher Whore Jaskier. When he's not being fucked, he's placed "on a shelf" until he's wanted again. The "Shelf" is a huge carved cock in the main room, so he's nice and toasty, watched over by them with water and nibbles of food. The Shelf doesn't let his feet touch the ground. Maybe spelled to make him extra horny, begging to be used. Witchers come in and out to play with the toy and sate themselves."_

Jaskier lets out a satisfied sigh as he feels Geralt spill inside him. He’s wiped hastily, a warm wet rag cleaning his own mess on his stomach as well as Geralt’s leaking out of him between his legs. Geralt quickly dresses himself and then he throws Jaskier over his shoulder and heads downstairs.

It’s early morning in Kaer Morhen - Jaskier has a sneaking suspicion Geralt is a little late for the morning training, having been held up by taking care of his morning wood - and the air in the hallways is a little cold on Jaskier’s naked skin, but the main hall is well-warmed by the big fireplace the Wolves always keep lit over the winter.

Geralt deposits him on The Shelf, checks Jaskier’s face for any sign of discomfort and when he’s faced only with his content smile, he nods to himself and jogs out of the door leading to the courtyard, to join the morning training.

Jaskier is still a little sleepy as he sits there, waiting. He’s sleepy most of the time in Kaer Morhen - well, maybe not _sleepy_ , per se, but everything is always warm and fuzzy for him, reality going soft at the edges, and he’s content to just float in all the sensations, not a coherent thought in his mind.

Jaskier likes The Shelf. His dear Witchers carved it just for him and had it enchanted just for him - a frankly enormous wooden cock bespelled to be always warm like the real thing, vibrating almost unnoticeably (Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was another spell, or if it was just the gentle hum of the warming magic) - citing the need to have somewhere to put him when they’re not using him. Jaskier likes it, because it keeps him warm and full and open for the next cock to fuck him. He likes it because it is _his_ Shelf.

Not that it matters much - during the winter, he’s a sex toy, a human cocksleeve, a breathing fleshlight, and those things don’t usually have an opinion - but The Shelf is his second favourite place to be. The first being, of course, on one of his witchers’ cocks.

He would have thought that being just… _tossed aside_ after use, abandoned and forgotten, would feel bad, but it really doesn’t.

Being stored away on The Shelf is almost as good as being used. The Shelf feels marvellous in him - after he’s deposited, his own weight drags him down further and further, the slide usually made easy with left-over oil and witcher spend, the dildo pressing deeper inside him, stretching his rim wider with every inch he slides down, stopping only when he just _can’t_ go further, can’t take _more_ \- but his feet never manage to touch the ground, The Shelf too tall and thick for that.

And it’s always warm and vibrating, keeping him nearly continuously aroused. He doesn’t think he could come just from it - he hasn’t, so far, so he doubts he ever will - but it keeps him hard. It’s just enough to give him a little edge, to always _want_ , to always _need_ , and it drives him wild. His witchers are nice enough to indulge his desperate pleas, whenever it gets to that - most of the time sooner rather than later.

He usually does not touch himself when he’s on The Shelf, only when told to do so - he usually does not touch himself without being told to do so _in general_ , since sex toys do not masturbate, or jerk off as they’re being pounded - there’s just no _reason_. The Shelf makes him feel good and at this point, the content, fuzzy, floating feeling is just as good, if not better, than an orgasm. If his witchers want him to come, they make him - if they don’t want him to come, he doesn’t. Simple as that.

An indeterminable stretch of time later, the big door leading out to the courtyard swings open and five sweaty witchers enter, accompanied by a gust of cold air that makes Jaskier shiver involuntarily and clench down on the dildo inside him. The witchers are in good spirits, they are laughing and ribbing each other as they sit down around one of the long tables to break fast. Once there is food in front of them, though, they go quiet.

They eat, and then they disperse to do their daily chores. Coën takes the last bowl of food that all the witchers left untouched and Eskel pours a fresh cup of water and they both walk over to where Jaskier is sitting on The Shelf just a few steps away.

Eskel brings the cup to his lips and lets Jaskier take a sip. Then, Coën feeds him bite-sized morsels, always waiting for Jaskier to chew thoroughly and swallow before offering another one. Eskel waters him throughout, playing with one his nipples with his free hand.

When the bowl in Coën’s hand is empty, he pushes his fingers into Jaskier’s mouth and Jaskier dutifully sucks them clean. Eskel’s hand drifts lower; he rolls Jaskier’s balls in his palm, Jaskier’s breath hitches and his cock dribbles precum. Both witchers let out a low, amused chuckle.

Coën pulls his fingers out of Jaskier’s mouth and squeezes a handful of his ass instead. He teases his stretched rim with his fingers, prodding as if he were planning to slip one in alongside the wooden cock - he won’t, because Jaskier is already at his limit, but the thought that he _might_ and their shared knowledge that Jaskier _would let him_ sends a shiver down his spine.

Eskel gives his prick a gentle pat and both witchers step away. Jaskier bites back a needy whine at the loss as they go their own way, leaving him harder than he was, pitifully drooling precum on the floor.

While he’s on The Shelf, time passes differently: sometimes it drags on, neverending - other times it slips through his fingers without him even noticing, and that’s okay. He’s a sextoy, an object, and objects do not care about time. He simply exists, right here, always easily accessible. When a witcher passes through the main hall, they usually make a detour to Jaskier’s Shelf - they grope him, stroke him, pinch him, do whatever they want to him, teasing him to near insanity, and when they’ve had enough of him, they leave to continue with their day, leaving Jaskier moaning and pleading and dripping.

Lambert comes in from outside, likely from fixing the walls, and heads straight to the kitchen. It must be around noon, then - the witchers take their lunches usually alone, after they’re done with their morning chores. The first witcher to eat lunch is always tasked with feeding Jaskier as well.

Lambert finishes his share and comes to Jaskier with another bowl and a cup of water. He feeds him chunks of bread and cheese, and then a few fresh, sweet apple slices. Eating with your own hands is overrated, Jaskier thinks - it’s just _so_ good to just be fed, for the intent behind it: he is a good cocksleeve, so they take good care of him, so that he’ll last them longer. Lambert used to taunt him - hold food just out of reach, or moving it away just as Jaskier was about to take it in his mouth - but he quickly came to the same conclusion as all the others: that the maintenance of a sex toy was a matter of efficiency and nothing else. There was no use in dragging it out.

The witcher sets the dishes aside, and then he flicks at one of Jaskier’s nipples.

Jaskier squirms.

“Touch yourself for me,” Lambert orders.

Jaskier’s hands move - _properly_ move - for the first time since being put away in the early morning. He takes his hard prick between his thumb and his forefinger, just the way Lambert likes him to do.

As he starts tugging at himself with two fingers, Lambert opens his leathers and pulls himself out. He licks his palm and takes himself in hand as well, matching the rhythm of Jaskier’s strokes.

“Touch your tits as well,” he says.

Jaskier raises his other hand and lets his nails lightly scratch over his furry chest, feeling goosebumps break out over his skin at the sensation. He pinches one of his nipples, rolling it between the pads of his fingers, pulling at it, hissing in pleasure, before moving on to the other one to give it the same treatment.

Lambert runs his thumb over his head, spreading more precum over his cock. He’s watching Jaskier intently and his heated gaze lets Jaskier know just how much Lambert’s enjoying the show he puts on for him.

The thought sends a jolt of pleasure down Jaskier’s spine. His cock throbs and his hips buck up into his grip and impaled as he is on the wooden dildo, he doesn’t nearly even _budge_ , instead clenching down on The Shelf. A moan tears out of his throat.

“Do you - “ Jaskier rasps, jerking himself faster, urgency rising in him, “do you want me to cum?”

“Yeah,” Lambert says. “On your stomach. Don’t dirty the floor.”

“Of - of course,” Jaskier gasps out, and then he’s coming, hot spurts streaking his belly, pearly white catching in the hair there.

Lambert steps closer. He bats his hand away from his softening prick and pats the one playing with his nipple, a silent order for him to keep going. Then he leans forward, catching his abandoned nipple in his mouth. He circles it with his tongue before sucking on it.

Jaskier whimpers. He has _just_ come and he’s sensitive all over, but he continues tugging and rubbing at his other nipple, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of pleasure. He’s a sextoy, a good little warm fleshlight, and those don’t need to take a breather. They get put aside when their user puts them aside.

Lambert bites down on his nipple, Jaskier cries out his name, and then it only takes a few more strokes until Lambert is coming all over his abdomen and his soft cock.

“Fuck,” Lambert says, tucking himself back into his trousers, “I needed that.”

Jaskier preens. He was _useful_ , he was _good_. If it were up to him, he would have wanted Lambert to at least use his mouth if not his - stretched wide, wet with Geralt’s morning load - asshole, but he’s just a prop that the witchers use in this show they run.

“Don’t forget to clean it,” Vesemir reminds him from the kitchen, where he’s fetching his own lunch.

Lambert grumbles, but he does go and get a warm, damp piece of cloth and he does wipe Jaskier’s skin clean of their combined cum, already cooling. He gives Jaskier’s prick a squeeze before leaving, probably to get started on his afternoon load of chores.

Witchers drift in and out, after that. Vesemir takes time stroking Jaskier back to hardness, just so that he can leave him hanging on the edge when he goes back to work. Some stretch of time later, Coën takes him off The Shelf and fucks him, filling him with his seed, and Jaskier’s empty, untethered mind is floating so far away that it takes him a moment to realize that Coën has been replaced by Eskel and Geralt is fucking his mouth.

“Don’t worry, Coën,” Eskel says, mirh in his voice, “we’ll put it away for you, after we have had our fun.”

Jaskier comes as Eskel pounds him, without even a touch to his prick. He doesn’t linger on his orgasm, instead focusing on sucking Geralt off as well as he can. He’s rewarded for his effort when Geralt spills down his throat and Jaskier can swallow every single drop his cock pumps out.

After Eskel climaxes, they wipe the cum that leaks down his thighs and clean up his own load as well, and then they put him back on The Shelf.

He’s left mostly alone after that again, the witchers going outside for their afternoon training and then each working on their own thing - until Vesemir starts on the dinner in the kitchen. The witcher doesn’t pay him any attention as he cooks, but the bubbling of hot water combined with the rhythm of the knife against the cutting board are so different from what he’s been hearing all day in the moments he was alone (silence, mostly silence) that it is a welcome change.

The witchers all come down for dinner. They talk and laugh together - Lambert tells them about his progress on bettering witcher bombs, Eskel tells them about how Lil’ Bleater and Scorpion seem to be fighting each other for his attention, Coën suggests they make the Gwent game tonight more interesting by swapping their decks with their opponent.

While the others clean the table, Geralt takes a bowl to Jaskier. It’s the perfect temperature after having stood, cooling, as the witchers ate - they sometimes eat their food while it’s still way too hot - and Geralt feeds him the stew they had spoon after spoon.

Lambert sets several bottles of liquor on the table, and then he pours a cup of wine. He brings it to Jaskier and lets him drink a little to wash down his supper and wet his throat. When the others finish preparing the table for a small Gwent tournament, Lambert throws Jaskier over his shoulder and brings him over.

The witchers play rock-paper-scissors over who gets him first. Vesemir wins, and the next moment, Jaskier is seated on the man’s cock.

They start playing. They joke and tease and take swigs straight from the bottle, while Jaskier tries very hard to keep quiet, so he doesn’t disturb them, while Vesemir bounces him on his dick. Jaskier doesn’t focus on the game in front of him at all - he knows that the winner gets to keep their shared fleshlight overnight, but Jaskier honestly doesn’t care whose bed he ends up in tonight - he has no preference, for to a sextoy, being used by one of them feels just as good as being used by any other. The only thing Jaskier has to focus on is the cock in him - he clenches down on it, trying to make it good for Vesemir.

When Vesemir comes, he’s passed down the table to Coën. Coën fucks him and breeds his hole, and hands him over to Eskel, who takes him too, and gives him to Geralt, and when Geralt is finished with him, he gives him to Lambert, and then he’s back in Vesemir’s lap and it all starts again.

Jaskier is unable to keep track of his own orgasms - he knows he always comes untouched, a thick cock hammering mercilessly at his prostate - and by the end of the night, everything is so fucking blurry and he’s so fucking open he doesn’t even know who’s carrying him up the stairs.

“We all laughed at Geralt being late to the training this morning,” Eskel says, and that must mean that _he_ won the game, “but I can bet I won’t be any better tomorrow. No better way to start the day than fucking a nice warm cocksleeve.”

Jaskier is pushed face down into the mattress and he keeps floating, a living fleshlight content to just be used.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [@witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com/)!  
> The title is from Barbie Girl by Aqua bcs titling porn is hard :((


End file.
